


you in your autumn sweater

by hanthelibrarian



Series: stanlon collection [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Bottom Mike Hanlon, Choking, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Farmer Mike, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Happy Sex, I'm Not Sorry Stephen King, Librarian Mike, M/M, Nature Conservation Officer Stan, One Shot, One Shot Collection, POV Third Person Omniscient, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Stanley Uris, just the barest mention of it, the barest hints of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanthelibrarian/pseuds/hanthelibrarian
Summary: It’s late; Mike’s not sure quite how late it is but it must be past ten o’clock by this point and all he can think about is how nice it’s going to feel crawling into bed, freshly out of the shower, wrapped in his favorite sweater and lying next to the love of his life.
Relationships: Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Series: stanlon collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901215
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	you in your autumn sweater

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a friend of mine and it took me a while to finish because all I do is procrastinate apparently so enjoy!

It’s late; Mike’s not sure quite how late it is but it must be past ten o’clock by this point and all he can think about is how nice it’s going to feel crawling into bed, freshly out of the shower, wrapped in his favorite sweater and lying next to the love of his life. He opens the bathroom door, lower half wrapped in a soft white towel, and steps into the bedroom. His eyes dart around but Stan is nowhere to be seen. _He probably fell asleep in front of the TV again_ , Mike thinks. Stan had been focused on a new wildlife documentary that was released today; Mike would usually watch with him but working on the farm all day despite the cool autumn temperature required a shower. So he had pulled himself out of his boyfriend’s surprisingly tight grip and padded up to the en suite bathroom in the quaint farmhouse they call home.

The farmhouse is two stories, the upstairs equipped with two bedrooms, an office, and two bathrooms. The downstairs holds the kitchen which opens up into the living room, a large walk-in pantry, and a library complete with a cozy fireplace. There is a dog bed in the living room, the library, and the master bedroom despite the fact that the two don’t have a dog. Yet. They’re planning on adopting one from the shelter down the road; they just need to wait for their application to go through and then a Great Pyrenees named Gemini will be coming home to them as soon as they are approved. 

Mike hums to himself, a soft sound in the quiet of the empty bedroom, as he moves toward the dresser filled with his clothes. He opens the bottom drawer and notices that one of his sweaters, his favorite one, is missing. _Laundry day is still three days away_ , he thinks as he rummages around in the drawer before moving to the laundry bin by the door. He pulls each piece of clothing from the bin out and tosses it to the floor around him. His sweater, heather gray with a downy inside, is a bit big even on him and his favorite thing to wear right after a shower and right before bed. 

“Stan?” he calls out, hoping his boyfriend can hear him from the living room but knowing that he most likely can’t. When he hears no response he sighs and pulls a pair of lavender boxer briefs on before tossing his towel into the bin along with the clothes he had strewn everywhere in his search. 

Mike makes his way down the hall and to the stairs, pausing at the top to listen for Stan’s soft snoring. He can barely hear it but it’s there. He smiles to himself. Stan works so hard at the wildlife refuge; he deserves a good rest. As Mike gets closer to the living room, tiptoeing as softly as he can so he doesn’t wake up Stan, he can hear the snoring growing louder. Everyone always complains about snoring but Mike finds that it comforts him. It’s such a nice, soft sound that reminds him that Stan is there, alive and close to him. He can see his boyfriend’s feet hanging off the edge of the couch, his bird-adorned socks bunched up around his ankles. Mike nearly wants to just join him on the couch, snuggle up to him and go to sleep; the only thing keeping him from it is the faint memory of the backache he got the last time they had. Peering over the edge of the couch, Mike calls out softly. “Stan, honey, time to wake up.”

Stan slowly sits up from where he was laying on the couch, blinking the tiredness from his eyes as the blanket falls from around his shoulders. Mike can see now that Stan is wearing his missing sweater. The sweater is about two or three sizes too big for the lean man, the hem coming down to his mid-thigh even while he’s laying down, the sleeves extending past his hands a couple of inches. Something stirs in Mike’s gut as he watches his boyfriend yawn and stretch, the sleeves of the sweater flopping a bit as he moves. A wave of protectiveness and adoration washes over him as he reaches out and runs a hand through the cashmere curls that lay atop Stan’s head. 

“Hey there, my love, have a good nap?” Mike rests his chin in his hand as he gazes at his sleepy boyfriend who’s still trying to wake up. 

Stan mumbles a response, barely audible above the yawn that breaks through. As he starts to wake up more, a smile spreads across his face as he catches Mike staring at the sweater. “See something you like?”

Mike hums an affirmative, his free hand trailing down to play with the hem of the sweater. “You look good in my clothes.”

“I know,” Stan smirks, spreading his legs a bit as he sits up more, eyes drifting to look at Mike’s hand that is close to lifting the sweater. “I should wear them more often.”

A low rumble sounds out from deep in Mike’s chest at the idea of Stan walking around the house wearing only this sweater or one of Mike’s dress shirts. “If you did that, I don’t think I’d ever leave the house again.”

They lock eyes as Stan chuckles softly, knowing that Mike truly means that. “What would you do all day?”

Mike comes around the couch, brushing a hand across the back of Stan’s neck as he moves, and soon Stan can see the evidence of just what Mike would do all day. He moans softly, the sound weighty in the back of his throat. Living on their own really does have its benefits, one of which is privacy. Stan brings a hand up and rests it on Mike’s hip, lips curling at the sharp hiss that escapes Mike’s tightly pressed lips. He rubs a thumb closer and closer to the thickening line of Mike’s cock, jutting out slightly in the confines of his boxers.

“The sweater got you that hot this quick?” Stan looks up through his eyelashes at Mike, face set in the most innocent of looks as he rubs circles into the fabric.

Tangling his fingers into Stan’s curls, Mike rolls his hips forward, mouth hanging open in a silent moan. “Yeah, fuck, I can’t tell if I want to fuck you in it or be fucked _by_ you in it.”

At that, Stan stands up and wraps his arms around Mike’s shoulders, pupils blown as he gazes up at him. “Guess we’ll just have to figure that out then.” He leans up onto his tiptoes and kisses Mike, long and slow, tongue flitting out to flick at the seal of their lips, his hands scratching through the coarse hair of Mike’s beard.

To Mike, nothing could ever beat the feel of it; Stan’s hands roaming over his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, everywhere he can reach. He wants to open himself up for him, let him crawl inside and linger there, the life they lead beyond these walls just a whisper in the all-consuming cacophony of love they hold for each other. He wants to kiss Stan until his lips are swollen, blood rushing to the forefront of his skin. He wants to drop to his knees and bury his face in the soft expanse of Stan’s thighs. Most of all, he wants to carry Stan up to their bedroom, grip him tight and hold on; he wants to feel their heartbeats mingle, feel them beat in time as they come together, entangled and entwined.

Stan pulls back and pats at Mike’s warm cheek with his palm, gaze heated but soft. “Where’d your mind run off to, sweetheart?” The light concern in his voice is nearly palpable, his hushed tone floating in the space between them.

“Upstairs,” Mike moans out, hands falling from Stan’s hair to his waist, his fingers digging in as his hips stutter forward. “Was thinking about-“

“-All the things I’d do to you.” Stan finishes for him, all traces of tiredness gone as his mind now wanders up to their bedroom and their soft inviting bed. He thinks about Mike laying there, legs spread as he watches Stan kiss his way up his legs, leaving bruises in his wake. He thinks about pinning Mike’s hands above his head as he fucks into him, slow and deep, as if there were nowhere else he’d rather be. And truly there isn’t.

Mike nods, his mouth too busy sucking and licking the length of Stan’s neck to form words. The skin there is soft and he can taste the faintest hint of the honey almond lotion Stan puts on before bed. He pulls back, head rushing from desire and the sudden movement and he looks into the beautiful hazel eyes in front of him. Stan’s eyes say all that needs to be said and Mike knows what comes next.

The two make their way to the stairs, bumping into walls and nearly knocking over framed pictures of the two of them, of the Losers, of their family as they kiss, not caring what their journey looks like as long as the destination is their bed. They pull themselves apart once they reach the stairs; despite the urgency with which they kiss, they don’t want to risk a trip to the ER. Mike takes the stairs two at a time all the same, while the more sensible Stan walks up slowly behind him, enjoying his momentary view of Mike’s ass in his tight underwear. Mike turns to smile knowingly at Stan once he reaches the top. If he’s standing in a way he knows shows off his ass, well, he won’t ever admit it.

Once Stan joins Mike at the top of the stairs, they resume their heated kiss but this time there’s a touch of sweetness, of gentleness as they make their way down the hall; the recklessness they embraced in their journey to the stairs only a distant memory now as they glide in tandem to their bedroom, the door already ajar. To Mike, it seems like ages ago, yet also mere moments before, that he had gotten out of the shower to find his sweater missing. Now here he is, wrapped up in the arms of his love who is wearing said sweater. He’d chuckle to himself if his mind weren’t preoccupied with the taste, the thought, the feeling of Stan.

“I love you,” Mike murmurs into every inch of skin his mouth can reach. He whispers it, again and again, relishing the quiet gasps it draws from Stan, the sounds hushed and gravelly as if he were holding himself back. “Let me hear you, my love.”

Stan drops his head onto the front of Mike’s shoulder, his mind fuzzy as if he were drunk and perhaps he is. Perhaps he is drunk on the scent of Mike, fresh from the shower. Perhaps he is drunk on the words that kiss his skin. Perhaps he is drunk on the idea that this man is his, forever and always, because he chooses to be, because he wants to be. He moans, the sound long and drawn out, still soft but not as quiet as before. He’s usually not one to be shy about his affections, his desires, yet tonight is different; he can’t quite place his finger on it but maybe it’s the gentleness with which Mike is holding him, maybe it’s the quiet atmosphere they’ve surrounded themselves within their home. Something about tonight is different and Stan doesn’t want to disturb; instead, he wants to cherish it, hold it close to his chest as if it were a secret between them.

Mike pulls back from Stan’s neck as they enter their bedroom, his fingers loosely gripping Stan’s chin to lead him forward. He backs up, bringing them closer and closer to the bed until the backs of his knees hit the baby blue comforter covering the mattress and he falls backward, bouncing once, his lips pulled into a knowing smile. He reaches for Stan’s hands where they hang by his sides and he tugs, silently telling him that he is ready and wanting. 

“Mike,” Stan begins, his voice hoarse and cracking. He climbs onto the bed, still holding Mike’s hands as he straddles him, his knees barely brushing Mike’s hips. Hesitantly, again such an odd feeling for him, Stan leans down and kisses a line across Mike’s chest, mouth lingering over the taut muscle, tongue flicking softly against each nipple for a brief moment before he moves lower, kisses getting sloppier the further down he goes until he’s sliding off the bed, knees knocking hard against the wooden floor. His lips rest against the soft cotton of Mike’s briefs, mouthing against the hard length trapped beneath the layer of fabric. Breath coming out in small huffs, quiet and even, Stan tugs down the lavender briefs and begins licking, kissing, sucking on the newly revealed skin. Here the scent of Mike’s body wash is the strongest, the mild notes of citrus and jasmine lingering from the shower. Stan breathes deeply as he brings his lips to curl around the thick, heavy cock that lays in front of him. 

The room is quiet, as is the rest of the house, the only sounds being the gentle moans coming from Mike and the wet, sloppy noises Stan is making as he sucks Mike’s cock down, further and further until he can take it in no longer. Mike’s hand is tangled in Stan’s curls, not pulling or pushing, just tangled there, whether it is to steady Mike or Stan, neither of them knows. The pressure is reassuring for Stan as he brings a hand up to stroke what doesn’t fit inside his mouth. For Mike, it is grounding as Stan takes him apart piece by piece, each lick, each tight stroke with his mouth more unraveling than the last. No matter how many times they do this, it still surprises Mike just how good it feels, how tight and wet Stan’s mouth can be. 

With a gasp and a wet ‘pop’, Stan pulls off, hand stroking the full length to make up for the loss of his mouth. “Can you reach the lube?” Stan’s voice is cracked and heavy with lust and love and a tsunami of other emotions that Mike tries to read as he looks into his eyes. Mike nods and, after rummaging around in their bedside table, tosses the bottle to Stan, their eyes never parting. 

The first touch of a cold, wet finger against his hole shocks Mike and his back arches, body instinctively trying to escape the prodding digit. A few tender kisses up and down his thighs, courtesy of Stan, calm him down enough to let his boyfriend enter him slowly, his knuckle coming to rest against the sensitive skin just as Stan finishes sucking a bruise into the base of Mike’s right thigh. He begins to pump, finger curling ever so slightly, not quite seeking, not yet. Above him, it is as if Mike is singing, each thrust of Stan’s finger drawing a staccato note out of his tight throat, moans forgone in lieu of soft whimpers. Stan’s pace quickens and he curls his finger harder, rubbing the tip against the delicate muscle inside. With little ceremony, a second finger joins the first, and Mike’s whimpers dissolve into cries of pleasure. As his fingers scissor, Stan sucks in a breath upon witnessing Mike’s reaction, his eyes rolled back, chest arcing, the muscles in his arms now taut as he grips Stan’s hair in one hand and the pillow below his head in the other.

“God, Stan,” Mike chokes out. “More, please, love, _please_.”

Stan obliges him, a third finger quickly sliding itself into place beside the other two, the three of them moving as one. Despite knowing Mike is clean, he always cleans himself in the shower in case a situation such as this one arises, Stan still can’t bring himself to lick around the opening that is sucking his fingers in deeper so he settles for placing wet kisses in a line up the underside of Mike’s cock before taking the swollen, throbbing, precum-soaked head into his mouth. The hips beneath him twitch up just once before settling underneath his steady hand; Mike knows to keep still, knows that if he does the reward will be more than worth it. 

Stan is timing the push and pull of his fingers with the sucking strokes of his mouth, tempting and teasing Mike with a quick press of a fingertip against his prostate and a flick of his tongue against the tip of his cock. If he keeps this up for much longer, Stan knows Mike will come undone and the thought is one he almost decides to allow to come to fruition but then he thinks of the alternative. He thinks of replacing his tiring fingers with his cock, he thinks of moving his mouth upward, slotting it against Mike’s wet and gaping lips, swallowing each and every moan that comes from him. That thought is what makes him slowly remove his fingers, a slight ache settling into his knuckles as he stretches his fingers. 

“Talk to me, Mike,” Stan murmurs into the trail of hair leading from belly to groin, his lips caressing the skin with soft, fluttering kisses. “I need to know if you’re ready for me.”

At first, Mike can only groan in response, his hands gripping Stan by his hair, fingers curling in and tugging. A few deep breaths and he can speak. “Y-Yeah, ‘m ready, love. Want you in me.”  
Stan grins against Mike’s hip, kisses having turned to light nips and tugs with his teeth. He wraps Mike’s legs over his shoulders and rises up onto his knees on the bed. All of the air in Mike’s lungs leaves in a soft rush, his eyes rolling back as he’s manhandled into place. Mike is a big man, much larger than his boyfriend, so being moved into place was never something he thought he’d be into. Once he and Stan had gotten together, however, he quickly learned just how much he liked it.

Reaching across Mike where he lay spread out beneath him, Stan grabs a condom and, with a flick of his wrist, rolls it onto his aching untouched cock. He hisses at the contact, taking a moment to stroke himself a few times before Mike is squeezing his neck between his thighs and looking glaringly up at him.

“I swear to god, if you cum before you get inside me-“ Mike is cut off by Stan’s fingers slipping into his mouth, dipping in and out a few times before he reacts, wrapping his lips around them and sucking.

Stan takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him: Mike, sweaty and breathless, stretched out, his tongue laving over the fingers inside his mouth. Swallowing down a moan, Stan strokes himself one more time before lining up with Mike’s hole, pressing against it lightly. A sharp gasp from below him startles him and he shifts forward, the head of his cock pressing harder against the tight ring of muscle, nearly entering.

Mike moans around the fingers in his mouth, hands scrabbling for Stan’s arm, his chest, whatever he can reach. He wants him inside of him now and he tries to tell him that but all that comes out are groans and muffled whimpers. Rocking his hips up, Mike tries to draw Stan in, tries to get him to press forward just a little bit more. And finally, he does.

“ _Mike_ ,” Stan’s voice is strained as the head of his cock pushes past the tight barrier and enters the warm, wet heat. Despite the condom, he can feel just how soft Mike is inside and he has to hold himself back from thrusting forward even more. His hips stutter and shift before he gives up and thrusts in, bottoming out and drawing moans from both of them. From there, he’s gone and it’s almost second nature that he starts up a steady rhythm, his hips working like a piston, slapping softly against the backs of Mike’s thighs. Mike is reaching up, trying to touch his face but Stan grabs his hand first, kissing it quickly before pinning it to the bed. One hand still slipping wet fingers in and out of Mike’s loose and wanting mouth, the other holding one of Mike’s hands to the bed, Stan finds himself leaning forward, bending Mike in a way that they had only recently found out he could manage. Doing yoga together twice a week is something the two of them are more than glad for right now.

The room is quiet again, save for the soft _slap, slap, slap_ of their hips. Stan’s lips are slotted over Mike’s, tongue slipping in beside his fingers, swallowing every moan that begins to erupt from deep in Mike’s chest. The pressure around his cock is tight, it’s always tight and he can feel himself getting close to the edge of orgasm. _Too soon_ , he thinks so he stills his hips, smirking when Mike chases it with his own. Stan slips his fingers from Mike’s mouth and wraps them around his dark, thick cock, stroking him loosely. He can feel the pleasure Mike is experiencing, despite the stillness of their hips, by the desperation with which he kisses him, too far gone to put in any real effort, his mouth sliding across Stan’s face to lodge itself into the space where neck meets shoulder. He’s biting now, teeth sinking into lily-white skin, the sensation grounding Stan and he feels ready so he begins again, energy renewed.

Words of praise fall from Stan’s lips, dripping into Mike’s ear. “You’re perfect,” and “So beautiful” and “So tight for me” ringing in Mike’s head. He’s being thoroughly fucked, something he didn’t think this night would entail, but he’s more than happy with the path they’ve taken. He wants more, though, and he moves to show him just how much more he wants. He slides his legs down from across Stan’s shoulders to around his chest, gripping him tight before flipping them over, his thighs burning with the effort but he ignores it.

Now on top, Mike is the one who is pinning Stan down, left hand gripping Stan’s throat as he rides him, the slick push and pull of Stan’s cock inside of him sending his head into a frenzied haze. His right hand comes down to wrap itself around his cock and he’s close, so close that he knows it will only take him a few strokes to cum. He wants Stan to cum first, though, so he throws his head back and moans his name, long and loud in the way he knows Stan likes, his voice hitting such an odd pitch that he knows his throat will be sore for the rest of the night. It’s worth it, though, to feel Stan’s hands come to dig into his hips, his feet now planted so he can fuck up into Mike. Their bodies are coming together now faster and faster and Mike knows he can’t hold on much longer. He leans down, hand still wrapped tight around Stan’s throat, and he moans out “I love you” into Stan’s ear and he knows Stan is cumming, not only from the shudder and twitch of his hips but from the low moan reverberating in his chest as he kisses him deeply. Mike’s hand pumps once, twice, and then he is cumming too, thick stripes of white coating the sweater that Stan is, somehow, still wearing.

Mike falls forward, arms too tired now that his orgasm had coursed through his entire body. Stan’s cock slips out and they lay there, Mike on top, not quite crushing but still slightly uncomfortable. As much as he would love to stay there, holding Mike close to his chest, Stan can’t quite catch his breath so he pushes him slightly and Mike rolls to the side. 

“That was-“ Mike starts, chest heaving from exertion. “Fuck, Stan, that was great.”

Despite his exhaustion, Stan moves to slide the condom off, tying it off and wrapping it in an abundance of tissues from the box on the bedside table. He tosses a handful to Mike as he strips off the sweater, now covered in drying cum, getting up off of the bed to drop it into the laundry basket. _We’ll have to move laundry day up to tomorrow_ , he thinks, lips stretching into a tired smile. As he makes his way back over to the bed, he catches Mike looking at him and he stretches his arms above his head teasingly, relishing the appreciative hum from Mike. Stan crawls back onto the bed, stifling a laugh as he rolls to lay his head on Mike’s chest, listening for the telltale pounding of his heart. “I’m definitely wearing your clothes more often.”

Mike groans in mock protest but still wraps his arms around Stan, holding him close as they drift off to sleep. If he dreams of Stan wearing one of his dress shirts, leading to him waking up with a rough case of morning wood, well… he won’t admit it.


End file.
